


Every Day (Every Night)

by taeminuet



Category: SHINee
Genre: Lingerie, M/M, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 09:44:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16930917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taeminuet/pseuds/taeminuet
Summary: And Jinki had laughed and nuzzled his inner thigh and whispered, “Fuck, you’re so pretty,” and Taemin had pushed weakly at him in embarrassment and pulled him up into kisses that Jinki interspersed with laughter and little praises and Taemin had felt… he’d felt pretty. He’d felt pretty and safe and not threatened, and he’d felt good.In which Taemin doesn’t know if he likes being pretty except when it comes to Jinki.





	Every Day (Every Night)

Taemin shivers as the AC kicks on, sending cold air sweeping over his bare legs. For a brief instant, it’s enough to catch him off guard, to throw him out of the moment and the anticipation and leave his heart thrumming with adrenaline, all fight-or-flight instinct when there’s nothing here to fight.

He wants, for a terrifying second, to just put on sweatpants and a hoodie and go curl up on the couch to wait for Jinki to get home and greet him with a smile and a kiss. He wants to huddle against him and order food and watch an uncomfortable number of dance competition show episodes and just be content. He wants it so badly. But he wants this more.

All of that, it’s soothing in its own right — pajamas and takeout and reruns — but that’s not what he wants right now. That’s not what he needs. He needs Jinki to come in and see him and want him, for Jinki’s eyes to darken and his mouth to curl into a smirk instead of a grin and for him to tell Taemin how pretty he is, how  _good._

Taemin isn’t dumb – he knows what he looks like, knows he’s handsome, conventionally attractive, even beautiful sometimes under the right light. He knows that people look at him and want. But he also knows, with a kind of visceral intensity, exactly how shallow all of that is.

Taemin had spent years with men seeing him across a room, across trashy college parties, across bars and clubs, and thinking they had a right to get close to him, voices rough as they told him how pretty he looked — his hair, his small hands, his thin waist, all of his delicate features.

It makes him uncomfortable even now, long after the fact, a discomfort so strong that it’s almost a tangible feeling, like ants crawling on his skin. As a younger man, it had outright frightened him, so badly that he’d spent years bundling himself up and hiding his features, performing at hypermasculinity. Not because the idea of being pretty was distasteful, but because every time it was pointed out to him, it felt like a thinly veiled threat.

But then he’d met Jinki. Jinki whose voice was warm and smooth and who told Taemin he was pretty with a kind of guileless certainty, meaning nothing at all by it except exactly what he was saying; he thought Taemin was pretty, and he wanted to tell him so. And that really was all there was to it, because Jinki took months upon months to even consider the idea of kissing Taemin, and when Taemin asked him why, afraid of the answer he’d get, Jinki had only shrugged and said, “I didn’t know you yet. Yeah, you’re pretty, but why would I want to kiss someone without actually knowing them?”

Later, the word would come up —  _“I think I might be demisexual?” —_  but by then the why hardly mattered when every compliment, every casual, “you look pretty in that; it makes your eyes stand out,” or “do you know how pretty you look when you laugh like that?” already had Taemin flushing pink, squirming and trying to understand the wake of uncertain pleasure that swept through him. He was used to ‘pretty’ being a threat, and the flutter in his stomach every time it fell from Jinki’s lips was new and confusing.

And, of course, it only took so long for Jinki to take notice, only took until he was pressing Taemin, fully clothed, into the sheets and ghosting his lips over the line of his jaw, nosing into a spot on the underside where he sighed soft and familiar against Taemin’s throat, adjusting the press of his weight against the flat plain of Taemin’s chest so they were closer together. His lips were warm and a little sticky with some kind of chapstick, and they left damp spots on Taemin’s skin as Jinki pressed soft kisses along the expanse of his throat, drifting absently over Taemin’s adam’s apple and laughing so sweetly when Taemin swallowed instinctively around a moan and it moved beneath his lips.

“You’re so pretty,” Jinki had sighed, and Taemin had whimpered low in his throat, the sound too close to Jinki to hide. And Jinki had looked at him with curiosity and wonder and whispered again, “You’re so pretty like this. I love the little noises you make.”

And Taemin had shivered bodily and felt his flush spread hot through him and tried so hard to bury himself in Jinki as his cock twitched a little against Jinki’s thigh, suddenly taking a very strong interest in the proceedings. They hadn’t gone all the way, had never planned to then, but Jinki had interspersed soft kisses with little praises about how pretty Taemin was, how good he looked, flushed and panting, how much Jinki liked making him moan and how pretty he sounded.

It had taken trial and error after that, time and patience and understanding to find out what Taemin liked and what made him cringe back and why. But Jinki was nothing if not patient, and when Jinki had finally knelt between his legs, looking up at Taemin trembling above him, and murmured, “Look at you, Taemin-ah. Such a pretty cock,” Taemin had come before Jinki’s mouth could even touch him in an embarrassing rush of flustered heat and want.

And Jinki had laughed and nuzzled his inner thigh and whispered, “Fuck, you’re so pretty,” and Taemin had pushed weakly at him in embarrassment and pulled him up into kisses that Jinki interspersed with laughter and little praises and Taemin had felt… he’d felt pretty. He’d felt pretty and safe and not threatened, and he’d felt  _good_.

Slowly, hesitatingly, Taemin had opened up. Feeling pretty for Jinki, feeling pretty like that at all, without some implicit discomfort behind it, made it easier for him to feel more comfortable with himself. Not all at once, and there are still days where it’s not amazing, but then there are days like today. Days where he wants, where he needs, where he finds it in himself to try, intentionally, to look pretty.

It’s okay, mostly, because he knows he could. He could put on those sweatpants and that hoodie and he could curl up on the couch with Jinki, and Jinki would kiss lips stained with takeout grease and laugh, and he would still, even like that, think Taemin was pretty. Which is why, Taemin thinks, he’s perfectly okay like this even as he hears the front door open, hears Jinki’s voice as he calls out Taemin’s name to tell him he’s home.

Taemin swallows thickly. “I’m in our room, hyung!” he calls out, suppressing the ball of nerves in his throat.

There’s a pause, the sound of quiet shuffling like Jinki is moving around near the front door to put his things away – shoes by the rack, work bag by the front table, keys in the bowl on the front table that they’ve implemented to keep Taemin’s losing his keys down to about once a week instead of every other day. Then there are quiet footsteps on the floor of the living room and Jinki asks, “Tae?”

“Here,” Taemin repeats, giving Jinki a little more guidance, and then— “Wait, no!”

Jinki’s socked steps halt where they were heading toward the door, and Taemin rushes around for a moment to pile all of his discarded clothes in the corner near the hamper. Close enough. “You okay?” Jinki asks through the door, and the doorknob rattles like he’s taken ahold of it, but he doesn’t come in just yet. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Taemin says, and it comes out a little bit breathless. “Yeah, I’m— come in.”

The door opens slowly, and Taemin realizes he’s just standing there in the middle of the room. Most people who did this kind of shit probably posed and looked sultry or something. Instead, he just stands there, suddenly unsure what to do with his arms.

“Oh,” Jinki says and— oh. Okay, yeah. There. Jinki’s eyes are darkening, and his worried expression is twitching into a smirk, and he steps toward Taemin and then past, not reaching out for Taemin, but moving to sit on the edge of their bed. He’s still dressed in work clothes, in his grey slacks and his white button-down. He’s lost the tie, or maybe he was never wearing one, but he’s dressed so proper, and when he sits down, the thick muscles in his thighs strain against the fabric of his pants.

Taemin suddenly feels very small and very naked. It’s one of those days, and he wants Jinki to think he’s pretty, and knows that Jinki thinks that  _Taemin_  is pretty, so, logically, the idea was to wear as little as possible while not wearing nothing at all. But now he finds himself flustered and shivering in the crop top, the lacy panties, the thin fabric of both making him feel like Jinki can see everything, and he’s a little unprepared for the way Jinki looks at him, not creepy or unnerving or possessive, but like he’s looking at a gift that someone’s given him, pleased and surprised and so, so appreciative.

Taemin breathes out a shaky pant and then manages, “How was work?”

Jinki’s expression flickers, just for a moment, so close to laughter that he almost breaks, and then he tips his head and smirks at Taemin. “It was fine. Would have hurried home sooner if I knew how you were feeling though. You wanna come here?”

It’s a question, genuine, and if Taemin said no, Jinki wouldn’t push it. Taemin doesn’t say no.

He settles into Jinki’s lap, knees spread wide for balance on the edge of the bed, thighs wide around Jinki’s legs, and Jinki steadies a hand on his lower back, holding him carefully in place. His palm is warm against Taemin’s skin, uncovered, a dull heat that pools there near the base of his spine. Jinki doesn’t do anything, just rubs his thumb up and down along the line of Taemin’s spine and looks up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Jinki,” Taemin whines, a little frustrated and then leans down to kiss him. Jinki’s lips are soft and a little chapped, and he kisses Taemin back in a way that never fails to make Taemin shudder, his mouth moving the way Taemin’s used to around prayers, worshipful and earnest. It makes Taemin melt, and then Jinki actually is moving his hand, sliding it down over Taemin’s waist and chuckling into Taemin’s mouth when Taemin instinctively clenches the muscles under Jinki’s palm. Taemin pulls back with a frown. “Don’t laugh.”

“Why not? Sex can be funny,” Jinki says, and uses his now freed mouth to kiss his way down to Taemin’s throat slowly, speaking between kisses, his mouth occasionally flickering into a grin before he can control it. And then he curves his fingers and moves them across Taemin’s skin in a way that’s not at  _all_  sexy, and Taemin jerks away with a helpless bark of laughter.

“Don’t fuckin’– Jinki, what the hell?” Taemin whines. “Don’t  _tickle_  me when I’m trying to seduce you.”

Jinki is smiling, and he pulls Taemin in and turns their bodies so they sprawl onto the bed together, Jinki propped up just a little bit over Taemin as he presses another kiss to Taemin’s throat. “You don’t have to try hard, Tae. You’re— wow.”

Taemin’s cheeks go pink, but he knows what Jinki cut off, knows why. Jinki is looking at him, and the implication was there, but Jinki knows what he wants, and he’s not giving it yet.

“Jinki,” Taemin pouts, arching his throat a little, right where Jinki’s mouth is, and feeling very proud of himself when he feels Jinki’s lips there a moment later, brushing over the skin and making Taemin shiver.

Jinki smiles. “What?” he asks, and runs his fingers over Taemin’s skin again, not tickling this time, but feeling along the smooth skin of Taemin’s abs, the flat expanse of his hips. “What are you trying to get me to do?”

“ _Hyung_ ,” Taemin growls, even though it mostly comes out as a whine. “I swear to god—”

He stops, inhaling quick as Jinki’s hands slide over his thighs instead, moving up his skin, a single slow slide without any fabric to impede them.

“I love that you want me to touch you this easily,” Jinki sighs. It takes Taemin’s breath away, and Taemin lets himself sink a little more into it, the knowledge of what’s coming, of what he’s asking Jinki to give him and what Jinki gives so easily. “You’re so pretty, Tae. Love how your thighs twitch when I touch them like this.”

It’s such a nonsense thing for Jinki to find pretty, but Taemin finds himself flustered anyways, legs slipping apart to let Jinki touch the way he wants, and yeah, the muscles in Taemin’s thighs are jumping under the gentle touches. Jinki makes quiet appreciative noises as he curls his hands around Taemin’s thin legs and pushes gently until they’re wide enough that Jinki can slip down, and then Taemin’s muscles are jumping harder under Jinki’s lips, not just his thighs, but his cock too, twitching to life and starting to fatten up, just barely, but entirely visible in the outfit he’s wearing.

Jinki hums and thumbs along the very edge of the lace that slips between the joint of Taemin’s thigh and pelvis. “Pretty,” he whispers again. Now that he’s started, he’s going to give until Taemin can’t handle it anymore. “Tae, are you gonna let me?”

Taemin sucks in a breath like he doesn’t know. In his defense, he only has some idea – Jinki can be creative. “Let you…?”

“Let me suck you off through these panties. You look so pretty in them. Does your pretty cock even fit in these once it’s hard, Taemin-ah?”

Taemin chokes helplessly on nothing, jerking his head a little, his legs spreading, and Jinki laughs and swipes his thumb up the underside of Taemin’s cock, tip pressing just under the ridge of the head where Taemin likes it. Taemin gasps and lets his hips jerk up, so obvious.

“So beautiful,” Jinki says. “Do you know how pretty you look when I can see exactly how much you’re into this?”

“Shut up,” Taemin whines. “Jinki, please.”

Jinki laughs, but he does as he’s bid, not because he’s actually going to be quiet, but because he very abruptly has a mouthful of lace and Taemin’s cock, and Taemin jerks so hard he nearly hurts himself, fingers flying out to grip into the sheets. Jinki’s mouth is hot and wet and the lace is soft and a little scratchy and getting more and more damp by the moment, and Jinki mouths around the head and sucks hard enough that Taemin’s cock almost doesn’t have a choice but to squirt precum, soaking into the fabric and spreading over Jinki’s tongue. Jinki moans like Taemin just touched his dick, like he’s in  _heaven_.

Taemin brings his hands up to his mouth to hide whatever expression or sound he’s trying to make because the noise he makes at that is humiliating in the strangely best kind of way. Jinki pulls back just a little to turn his head and nuzzle at Taemin’s thigh before licking a stripe up Taemin’s panties, starting far back enough that Taemin’s breathing stutters.

“Don’t?” Jinki asks, another genuine question, and then, because Jinki is a fucking  _cheater_ , adds, “I love how pretty you sound when you feel good.”

Taemin garbles something unintelligible and very definitely not pretty, and nods, reaching down to tug at Jinki’s hair weakly trying to get his mouth back on him.

Jinki laughs. “Greedy,” he says and leans forward to suck him off again, tugging the panties just a little to the side this time, Taemin’s cock springing free of its confinement like it’s making an attempt to get to Jinki’s mouth that much faster. Jinki wraps his lips around it and sucks, a constant suction as he slides his mouth down and down and down, and Taemin moans and tries to work his hips up for more, but Jinki settles his hands on Taemin’s hips, thumbs hooked under the line of Taemin’s panties and palms pushing him flat. He sucks hard, his teeth edging just slightly against the vein on the bottom, and Taemin arches his back with a shout, so very close to coming just from that.

Jinki pulls back with a smile, licking his lips, and Taemin collapses in a heap, looking at him in betrayal.

Jinki laughs. “Trust me,” he says, and pulls Taemin in, circling his fingertips over the head of Taemin’s cock for a moment.

Taemin jerks helplessly. “Please,” he says, because yes, he does, and he’s far gone enough to not care how he gets it. Jinki moves to hover over him, pushing the crop top up so it bunches under his arms, baring his chest for Jinki to wrap his lips around one nipple and suck hard. Taemin writhes. “Please. Jinki, please.”

Jinki sucks harder, tongue flicking hard until Taemin is arching almost obscenely, and only then does he pull back, nuzzling at Taemin’s abs. “You make it so hard for me to choose. I want to taste you so badly, but how am I supposed to watch how pretty you look when you come for me? You know how much I love seeing you come.”

Taemin shudders. “Jinki,” he says. “I want— I— I wanted—”

The words are gone, frustratingly so, and he curls his hand into Jinki’s again and pulls his hand down, between his legs. The panties are covering him there, just enough, but Jinki barely has to move them from him to feel the slick slide of lube around Taemin’s entrance.

Jinki groans quietly. “Taemin,” he breathes and slides one finger in. It goes in so easily, and Taemin presses down to meet him with a moan. “Did you do this?”

Taemin nods. It’s an obvious question, but the way it’s said is more rhetorical than anything, and Taemin is only agreeing because he wants Jinki to praise him for it. Jinki goes, his low moan praise enough, and then he goes ahead and adds anyways, “Wish I could have seen. Were you wearing this already? No, probably not. Your panties weren’t that soaked.”

Taemin goes very, very red and pauses, shakes his head slowly. “Not— not like…”

Jinki pulls back at once, gathers him in and presses soft kisses to his face. “Didn’t mean it like that, baby,” he whispers because he knows that Taemin  _hates_  when people just talk about imagining him in sexual situations, painting their own images of what he’d be doing like he’s just some fantasy for them to play out however they want. “Wanted to see exactly how you’d do it. I don’t need to imagine shit about you. You’re right here.”

Taemin shivers under him, settling easily, but his voice is a little less floaty, a little more hesitant when he says, “I can show you.”

Jinki kisses him, slow and deep. “Show me then?”

Taemin doesn’t even move from under him, just spreads his legs like he had before Jinki got home and hooks the panties to the side. He doesn’t need as much lube this time, but he still grabs some from the night table for authenticity and squirts it onto his fingers, pressing one inside with a choked-off moan. 

Jinki is watching him intently, drinking it in, clearly enamored, and it helps to finish calming him, helps him find the headspace where he wants to show Jinki hs good he looks, how pretty. He pushes in another finger with a soft mewl. His fingers are short, thin, don’t fill him very much. He can shove four inside of himself and still feel stretched beyond his limits at the first press of Jinki’s cock. He loves it.

He rushes a little, going to push another finger inside, knowing he’s still stretched from earlier, but what he’s not expecting is for Jinki to slide his finger back in instead, thicker than Taemin’s own and stretching him more than he expected, driving the air out of him in a rush. Taemin ruts down against it helplessly, his own hand falling still, and Jinki laughs.

“Taeminnie,” he reminds him.

Taemin just shudders and pulls his hand free so he can better buck back against Jinki’s hand. “Can show you with your hand,” Taemin gasps. “I rode my fingers. I can ride yours. Jinki—”

Jinki moans, long and low, and leans down to kiss him again, lips meeting his, and Taemin lets himself go utterly slack as Jinki kisses him like it’s a prayer, lingering on and on until Taemin’s chest hurts from lack of air and his hips are stuttering. And then Jinki gives him a second finger to ride, and Taemin lets out a raw moan and grinds down against them, twisting his hips just right, just enough to make Jinki’s fingers brush past his prostate. It’s a slow build, low and burning in his gut, but it’s worth it, Taemin’s lips parted in heaving pants, his head tossed back as he tries to cling ineffectively to Jinki for purchase as the pleasure builds to a roar.

And then Jinki curls his fingers, and Taemin inhales quick and sharp and stuttered, buckling a little until he’s not even riding Jinki’s hand, he’s just grinding his hips in slow, needy circles as Jinki crooks his fingers to rub inside of him, leaving Taemin a shaking mess.

“Look at you, Taemin-ah,” Jinki says, that same way he always does, and Taemin would give anything in the world to heat that pride, that affection, that love in Jinki’s voice when he says it, but right now all he can do is whimper. “Look at how pretty you look right now. Your cock is dripping for me. Are you gonna let me taste?”

Taemin jerks slightly and then, hardly even coherent, “With the— like the lace. Jinki—”

“Taemin-ah,” Jinki breathes and tugs Taemin’s panties back so that his cock is pressing against the seems, bound by the pretty black lace that had made Jinki’s eyes darken, and Jinki is slipping down and down, and his mouth is hot and wet and the lace is soft and scratchy and Taemin wails helplessly, so close to the edge as Jinki sucks hard and massages his prostate with slow insistent strokes.

Taemin is seizing up a little, muscles one long line as his entire body quivers, vibrating with the sensation, the pleasure, and he’s gasping out hiccuping sobs, and Jinki sucks hard, cheeks hollow as he slides off of Taemin’s cock with a loud pop of suction. His voice is warm and smooth, and he curls his fingers up, moving them in slow circles and he croons, “My pretty boy. So good for me.”

And Taemin is gone. All the tension unwinds like a spring being loosed, and there’s too much there, too much of a feeling, and Taemin thinks he might yell, or maybe he just whimpers Jinki’s name, but then he’s coming, long sticky strings of it that soak into the panties and leaves smears on his thighs, and drip free onto Jinki’s hand as he draws it slowly out of Taemin. Jinki brings his hand to his own mouth and sucks some of it off his skin and Taemin shudders, equal parts turned on and a little grossed out.

Jinki grins, rolling over to curl Taemin into his arms. He is kind enough to tug the panties off of him, tossing them at the hamper, but then Taemin is just in his arms, and Jinki’s cock is hard against his thigh, but Jinki doesn’t seem too bothered to do anything about it. Taemin curls into him. “Thanks,” he says quietly.

Jinki laughs. “I love you,” he says. “You know I think you’re pretty in like… holey sweats and old college tees, right?”

Taemin thinks about his alternative and smiles. “I know,” he says, “But thank you anyways.”

Jinki kisses him again, and Taemin sighs into him, feeling pretty and safe and good in Jinki’s arms. It’s a few moments of quiet, of basking in the warm glow of happiness, and then he pauses. “So,” he asks, knowing he’s going to regret the answer. “How hard do you think it is to get cum out of lace?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Imported from [tumblr](http://taeminuet.tumblr.com).


End file.
